Title: Morning Phoenix

Parings: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional.)

Disclaimer: Created solely for the amusement of myself and any readers who might happen upon it. I own no rights to the underlying works and characters mentioned. I make no profit.

Chapter 1: Of Birds and Bodies

It wasn't the first time Sherlock and I had been summoned to a crime scene at zero three hundred. It wasn't even the first time we had ended up in the Royal Preserve, the park that runs through the center of the Londinium Orbital, investigating a dead body. However it was the first time that such events were accompanied by bird song.

Greg Lestrade, a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Security Forces, had bipped Sherlock requesting his assistance with a dead body/missing person case. Of course I had started awake when Sherlock's peeda went off and there was nothing to it but to trail along, as was my habit, in the great detective's wake.

Lestrade was quick to brief us when we arrived. The crime scene was in one of the few areas of the Royal Preserve where the surveillance coverage was thin. The first constable on the scene had snagged the feed from the closest two cameras but it didn't show much. Two guys walking into the park, a jogger, and a worker heading home from the pub. Neither of the original two guys showed up on the feed by the time the first camera had rotated back into its original position. The second feed wasn't any better. It caught the jogger but not the inebriated worker or the two people. The only thing that I could determine from the footage was that the shorter of the two initial people entering the park was most likely the dead body lying on the ground.

"It happened fast," remarked Lestrade. "The first camera is set to revolve every five ticks automatically the second one is motion activated. I've got a request in for the rest of the feeds in this area but it will be mid-morning at the earliest before we get those."

Sherlock looked up from the tablet playing the surveillance footage for the second time and glanced around.

"When you get the other video find the drunk and the jogger," he advised Lestrade. "Given his speed and the direction of travel one or the other of them may have seen something."

"We have the jogger," Lestrade replied. "He's the one that called in a public nuisance complaint. He heard loud mournful bird song and thought someone was playing a prank. Constable Dickenson of the local station was sent to investigate and he found the body as well as the bird."

"Bird?" Sherlock asked looking a bit confused.

Of course Sherlock Holmes would be the only person on station who could walk into a park and be more interested in a dead body than the unmistakable sound of birdsong in a place where birds were not normally in residence. I had noticed it and chalked it up to background sounds that were sometime played over the park's speakers to enhance the ambiance but now that Lestrade had mentioned it I could tell that it wasn't a recording. It was a mournful set of trills and chirps in a minor sounding key. Every so often it would pause for a bit then start again.

"It's up in that tree over there," Lestrade pointed. "Dickenson says it quieted down soon after he had found the body but it's been doing that on and off ever since."

As if to punctuate Lestrade's remark the bird in question stopped singing. Sherlock shrugged clearly dismissing the bird for the moment. He caught my eye and gave a little head jerk in its direction. I knew my cue. I turned and walked over to the forensics equipment, snagged a pair of gloves then headed toward the body.

"I hope," I heard Sherlock say to Lestrade, "You have managed to keep your team from trampling all the evidence."

"As if there is any evidence to trample," I heard Sargent Sally Donavan mutter under her breath as I went past her.

I didn't acknowledge that I'd heard and continued on. There was something about the way the body was positioned that was giving me a case of déjà vu. When I got up close I realized why. The man was relatively young and very fit but judging from the marks around the body had fallen down in a convulsive fit before expiring. It was clear from his face and the arch in his back that his death had been excruciatingly painful. Armed with that knowledge I went looking for something specific. I started with the exposed skin first; hands, face, neck. I found what I was looking for at the join between the young man's neck and shoulder. It looked like a pin prick but I knew what it really was.

"Can someone get me a pair of tweezers and an evidence bag?" I asked the group at large.

"Cause of death?" Sherlock asked from across the body. He'd made an initial circuit of the crime scene and had decided to see if I'd come up with anything that might help him refine his search.

"Needle gun," I replied shortly.

Sally Donavan came up behind me and handed me the tweezers. She didn't say anything but I assumed she had the evidence bag. I dug a bit in the wound and found what I'd hoped to find, the projectile.

"Bag."

Sally held it open and I gingerly placed the needle dart inside.

"Judging by Watson's demeanor," Sherlock commented to Sargent Donavan, "you need to be careful with that. It's highly poisonous."

"No shit," she muttered. "I could tell that by looking at the body."

I didn't bother to call her on the outright falsehood. She'd been opining that the poor sod had a heart attack when we'd arrived. Instead I had other things on my mind such as ensuring that none of the people working the crime scene would get poisoned if there was additional ammunition around. As I started to stand something else caught my eye near the wound. The skin toward the young man's shoulder looked slightly different. I stopped and pulled the shirt aside. As I'd suspected the faintly discolored area was about 8 cm across and roughly circular in shape.

"Tattoo removed?" Sherlock asked but added before I could reply, "or still there but only visible under certain light spectrum."

"Try blacklight first," I replied as I stood, "Medically it's safest so it's most common for that sort of thing.

"So, needle gun?" Lestrade asked as Sally went to mark and log the bag.

"Uh, huh with a highly toxic poison on the darts rather than a simple soporific.

"Ok," Lestrade replied then raised his voice, "Folks anyone searching needs to glove up. We're dealing with a highly toxic poison on a needle dart so be careful where you put your hands."

I looked around. Sherlock had straightened up and was looking around deliberately scanning for something. His gaze stopped for a second on a small pile of compost then he strode off deliberately toward the trees and shrubs that were on the edge of the scene.

"What kind of poison do you think we are dealing with here?" Lestrade asked.

"We won't know for sure until Molly runs a tox-screen but if I had to guess from the effects I'd say a variety of distilled box fish toxin."

I realized that I'd need to have someone ask Molly, the pathologist who worked for the MSF, if her toxic database had all the mill-spec data loaded. Box fish toxin wasn't something you'd normally run into in an urban setting given how difficult it was to obtain.

"Never heard of it," said Lestrade. "Where would someone source something like that?"

"It wouldn't be easy," I replied. "It's unique to the Pescarian system. Some of the fish-men synthesize it and by the time they get done with the raw toxins the results can be anywhere from hallucinations to paralysis to almost instant death. There are versions which are sold widely on the black market and are relatively generic from multiple sources. The more fatal ones however tend to be specific to particular clans or schools. Those varieties the fish-men don't give to just anyone, only trusted members related to their school need apply."

"So we should be able to back trace the poison to a particular fish-men clan?" Lestrade asked.

"Good luck with that. They keep the formulas close and the identity of the particular school synthesizing which variant even closer."

"Lovely," Lestrade muttered just as a young member of the forensics team walked up with a black-light wand.

"Where do you want this sir?" she asked.

"I'll take it," I held out my hand.

I was curious as to whether it was indeed a secret tattoo on the body. There were a few groups in this quadrant of the galaxy that used secret tattoos to identify members. If the body had one of these then Lestrade might have a shot at figuring out what was going on. The forensics tech handed me the wand but before I could take a look at the body Sherlock gave a loud Ha! from next to a tree. Both Lestrade and I turned to see what he'd found.

"Here's the other dart!" he said indicating a point about a meter up on the tree trunk. "Needle guns are a relatively short range weapon designed for close quarters combat on spaceships. The darts are subsonic and meant to pierce skin and deliver a drug payload not to do much damage in and of themselves. This one missed its target, hit the tree and would have fallen to the ground but for the fact that it got caught in the tree bark."

The forensics tech had reached him by then and was peering at the section of tree he was pointing at.

"Wow," she said. "It must have lost most of its momentum by that point. Otherwise it would have just bounced rather than ending up there."

Sherlock looked at her then commented, "Keep this one Lestrade. She at least has a brain in her head!"

He turned and ambled back over toward us. I could see from the look on his face that he was thinking furiously. I decided that it might be a good to see if there really was a tattoo on the body. I went down on my knee and flicked on the black light wand. Bingo. The design was two crossed lines overlaid with a crescent that had its tips just touching the horizontal line. I snapped a picture and stood up.

"I don't recognize that one," remarked Lestrade, "is it new?"

Sherlock made an intrigued noise then said, "Whitebeard pirates. You don't often see that tattoo anywhere other than on the Line or over in World Collective space. Usually it's purple and visible. Their intelligence agents don't have identifying marks, they are too smart for that. So why would someone have a…" Sherlock trailed off his face contemplative. After a tick or so he looked around suddenly and asked, "Where's the bird? The bird saw the whole thing!"

Lestrade was starting to look annoyed, "Come on Sherlock what am I supposed to do, interrogate a bloody bird?"

"No, you are supposed to help me catch it! The bird is the key."

Lestrade opened his mouth but just then the bird in question made a loud squawk from a tree branch just above our heads. We all looked up and I for the first time that evening got a good look at the avian whose song had resulted in the discovery of the body. I didn't expect to recognize the bird but I did. About the same size as one of the smaller eagles its feathers were shades of blue ranging from turquoise to royal with two long yellow tail feathers. It was the avian shifter whom Sherlock and I had assisted it in getting back to its ship unnoticed about half a stan-year or so previously. Later Sherlock had informed me that said shifter had actually been one Marco, Captain of the starship Phoenix and a division commander for the Whitebeard Pirates.

"Oh," Sherlock exclaimed in a tone of surprise, "that explains everything!"

"To you maybe but could you enlighten the rest of us mere mortals?" Lestrade grumbled.

"That is a Firebird," Sherlock intoned as if that fact alone should make things clearer.

"And?"

"They are originally from the Rulanska system, endangered, highly intelligent, very sought after and extremely expensive."

"So this guy is a poacher?" Lestrade gestured at the body.

"Not exactly," Sherlock replied as he looked around the crime scene again.

It was common behavior for Sherlock to take one last look before starting off on explaining his deductions. This time I could tell however that Sherlock was stalling. I doubt anyone else would have caught it but I knew he was looking for a way to explain whatever he had deduced about the events of the evening without blowing the cover of the avian shifter who was currently sitting in the tree. I was curious to see exactly what he came up with.

"This bird is clearly the mascot of the Whitebeard ship called the Phoenix. This gentleman," Sherlock indicated the body, "absconded with the mascot and was attempting to sell him to your second gentleman who I suspect you will find has substantial smuggling connections. At some point the discussions became heated and second gentleman pulled his needle gun firing two shots grazing once and hitting with the second shot."

"So where's the gun and the second person then?" asked Lestrade.

"Right in front of you," Sherlock replied pointing at what I think most everyone, myself included, had dismissed as a pile of mulch or fertilizer for use on the plants. "When you analyze that you will find that they are incinerated human remains and potentially the remnants of the needle gun."

"How did he get like that? Our dead guy didn't have a blaster. In fact he didn't have any weapons at all!"

Sherlock looked up at the bird. "It's a good thing I think that firebirds don't get annoyed very easily," he remarked.

"Great," Lestrade sighed, "I now have two deceased and a bird with inflammatory potential which I need to catch and keep until its owners come for it."

I had to ask, "So what do you normally do with smuggled animals?"

"Generally we catch them and figure out someone on station who can care for them until their status is determined. For the exotic stuff it's most often the Royal menagerie at the other end of the park."

The firebird made a derisive noise.

If I hadn't been keeping my eyes on the bird I would have been surprised at what happened next. The bird took off from the branch it was sitting on. It flew around the clearing twice trilling all the way. As it came around for the second time it altered course at the last minute skimming over Lestrade's head making him duck. It then back winged to a landing on my good shoulder buffeting Sherlock on the back of the head with a wing as it did so.

Sherlock glared at the bird after it had settled but didn't say anything.

"Intelligent huh?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock. "How intelligent?"

"Think young child," Sherlock replied.

The firebird chirped at him then decided to preen my hair.

"Well I think the firebird had just indicated its preference for a caretaker." Lestrade looked at me.

I nodded my assent.

"If, of course, it can stand to live with you," he continued looking over at Sherlock.

The firebird shifter chirped in agreement then reached over and grabbed a lock of Sherlock's hair in its beak and pulled gently.

"I suppose we'll be able to come to an accommodation," Sherlock reached up and reclaimed his hair then held out his arm for the bird.

The firebird gave a trill and stepped over onto the proffered arm and working his way up to Sherlock's shoulder. Of course as soon as he'd settled he proceeded to preen Sherlock's hair. The look on Sherlock's face at that was priceless.

I could see that Lestrade was trying not to laugh. When he'd managed to get enough control he finally said, "You've given me enough to go on. We can take it from here. I'll ping you if I need anything else." He paused a moment then added, "If you could see about getting word to the bird's owners I'd appreciate it."

Sherlock made an affirmative noise then carefully turned and stalked off in the direction of Baker Street. I as usual trailed along beside. This time, however, was unique as I found myself walking in time to the firebird's singing.

Author's Notes: Once again my muse's fascination with Marco has resulted in another tale from the Piece of Eight crossover AU. This takes place after the Case of the Absent Avian in the AU timeline and directly after the battle of Marienford in the One Piece timeline.